


In Iron

by LastCorsair



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastCorsair/pseuds/LastCorsair
Summary: In the kingdom of Atlas, the practice of magic is forbidden by the church that rules the land. Even having the gift for magic can land you in the hands of the inquisition. When the spoiled daughter of the High Prelate seeks help with a delicate problem, an unlikely alliance is formed.
Kudos: 7





	In Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Another idea I wrote the first chapter of that didn't really go anywhere. Sorry for the cliffhanger at the end.

Taiyang really thought it was too beautiful a day to die.

Or at least it looked that way from the window of his cell, not that he really could see that much. The single window was both small and high but he thought it looked like a clear and sunny day. His cell door opened and he gave the inquisitors standing there a grin. "Looks like a great day outside, guys. What do you say we try this tomorrow? Seems a shame to ruin a day like this with a hanging."

Neither one of them shifted expression. "You should be honored, heretic. The High Prelate himself and one of his daughters are here to see you hang."

"Is she cute?"

The other one spoke now. "'Is she cute'? Do you want those to be your last words, heretic?"

"Name's Taiyang, not heretic. Two syllables, doesn't sound anything like heretic. And I'm not a heretic, just trying to-"

"Quiet," the first one snapped. "You have been convicted and condemned for heresy and crimes against the Church of Atlas. Heretic you are, and we won't stain our mouths with your l name." The shackles hanging from her hand rang against the concrete floor. "Now, you can walk or be dragged. Either way, it's time to go."

"No choice of a palanquin carried by a bevy of nude redheads, eh?" The pair advanced on him, glowering, and Taiyang held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I give, I give. I'll walk. No use making this worse than it has to be."

Taiyang winced as they fastened the shackles on his arms and legs. "Not so tight, guys," he said, but the pair of inquisitors ignored him. Their footsteps echoed in the cell block as he was led out and down the corridor toward the courtyard. Not catcalls or farewells greeted Taiyang's departure, not that he was surprised; a week ago one person had called out a farewell to someone being hanged and the whole cell block had been punished, the woman who called out almost beaten to death.

He took a step outside and stood there blinking for a moment as the bright morning sun stabbed into his eyes. He hadn't been outside in weeks; why would they spare any kindness on a man set to die, after all? One of his escorts pushed him in the back, and he shuffled forward, his steps hampered by the shackles. "Hey, guys, these things chafe. You might consider adding some padding or something, just trying to make things better for the next guy. No need to be unnecessarily cruel here or anything, just saying." A truncheon hit him in the back of the legs and he staggered for a moment. "Okay, okay, I'll get a move on. Sheesh, some people."

They led him up onto the platform and his eyes naturally fixed on the noose hanging down. "Okay, I'm going to call a fashion faux pas here. Black rope with an orange jumpsuit? I mean, the two really don't go together. If you like, I can give you the number of a good fashion consultant. Actually, you guys could use one on your outfits too. And an interior deco—hey, watch the hands, watch the hands! I'd rather not spend my last moments on Remnant being groped if it's all the same to you." With rough, businesslike motions, they shoved him into position facing the observation platform and started to fasten the noose around his neck.

The inquisitor fulfilling the position of executioner stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Taiyang Xiao Long, you have been tried and found guilty of heresy and other crimes against the faith, including helping others condemned to die escape the church's justice. Do you wish to repent your sins before your sentence is carried out?"

"Don't believe in your brand of mumbo-jumbo anyway, so-urk!" The woman putting the noose in place tightened it, making him gasp.

"Then go before the maker of all things unrepentant, having wasted your last chance to lighten the burden of sin upon our soul." The executioner wasn't surprised by Taiyang's words. Those sentenced to hang were all beyond redemption, after all.

As the man reached for the release lever, Taiyang drew a deep breath. If he had to go, he was gonna go big. _"Ozpin lives, assholes!"_ he shouted. _"Ozpin li-"_

On the observation platform, High Prelate Jacques Schnee watched impassively as Taiyang's body swung in midair, the last light of life fading from his eyes. Men could and had been spared after being dropped, though they were never quite the same afterward. But such was not Taiyang's fate. As the condemned man's body was lowered down and taken away, he turned to his daughter sitting next to him. "Will you be joining us for dinner at home tonight, Weiss?"

His younger daughter shook her head, her eyes fixed on the men carrying Taiyang's body away for disposal. "No, no, I won't be. I have… other plans for the rest of the day."

"Another one of your lovers tonight, then? Very well. But do exercise all due discretion, Weiss. We don't want another… unfortunate incident."

"Of course, Father. I will do my best to make sure my activities tonight never reach your attention."

* * *

The hooded figure hurried down the street, hunched in on herself as protection against the rapidly increasing rain. The clear skies and sunshine that had greeted Taiyang's final moments had vanished by noon, replaced by storm-clouds and thunder. She flinched as she passed by a Faunus man slumped against an aging storefront, his words slurred and unintelligible. She wished she hadn't had to venture into this run-down, filthy hell-hole, but there was no way she was going looking for what she sought tonight in one of the more… respectable districts of the city. There was too much chance she'd be recognized, and that would rather defeat her purpose, wouldn't it?

Finally, she reached her destination, the rain settling into a steady downpour. It was a seedy-looking establishment bearing the name "Crow Bar," with a crossed pair of the eponymous tools between the words. She sighed and pushed open the door, hoping the inside was… less filthy than the outside.

It wasn't. The air was filled with the smells of smoke and alcohol, garnished with a hint of vomit and… blood? The dimly-lit room was mostly full, no doubt due to the rain, and she could swear she felt some of them sizing her up as one sort of victim or another. She shuddered before squaring her shoulders, marching up to the bar and taking as ladylike a seat as she could manage under the circumstances. "What'll you have?" the bartender asked, his mustache twitching.

"I'm looking for someone."

He shrugged. "Lotta someones in here."

"I'm…" She could barely bring herself to say it, the whole thing was rather silly. "I'm looking for a friend of Qrow's?" she answered, her uncertainty turning the last word into a question.

The bartender jerked his head toward the back of the bar. "Down the hallway, second door past the restrooms. Knock twice; I'll let 'em know you're coming."

She could still feel eyes watching her as she made her way down the barely lit hallway. Bathroom, first door, aha! Second door. She took a deep breath before knocking twice as the bartender had said.

"Come in," came from inside the door, and the cloaked figure stepped inside. The room was dingy and smelled of mildew, the only light a lamp sitting on the battered wooden desk. "Have a seat," the black-haired woman seated behind the desk said, gesturing at the single chair in front of her. "So, why are you looking for a friend of Qrow's?"

"I was hoping you could help me," she answered as sat, glancing at the pistol sitting within easy reach of the other woman's right hand.

"Oh?" One of the feline ears she hadn't noticed before flicked, and she forcibly suppressed the urge to flinch. Faunus or not, she needed the other woman's help, and she was too desperate to risk offending them. The black-haired woman leaned forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the desk. "Help you with what? You're going to have to give me something to go on, here. And please, be specific."

"Things… things have started happening around me, things I can't control. I need, I need to be able to control them."

"Show me." The other woman's voice grew challenging. "If you can."

She concentrated as she held her hands out in front of her, cupped as if she was holding a ball. Slowly, a dim blue light flickered into existence, and the air in the room grew chill. A swirl of snow started around the light, coalescing into a delicate snowflake a handspan across, and she sent it twirling toward the other woman. "My apologies," she gasped, collapsing back in her chair, "that's the best I can do."

The other woman tried to catch the snowflake, only to sigh as it collapsed the instant her hands touched it. "That's more than enough, more than most with the gift could manage without any training, which I assume is the case. So, what kind of help are you looking for?"

"How do I turn it off, make it go away?"

"Doesn't work like that, princess." A blonde woman spoke up from the darkened corner behind her. "Training the gift, even just learning to keep it from doing things you don't want, it's not quick or easy. Takes weeks, months. It comes at a cost, too."

"Money's not an issue. Time… may be. I can't just disappear for days on end."

The woman behind the desk tilted her head. "And just who are you? The way you say that you're used to just throwing money at problems to make them go away."

"You don't need my name."

"Oh, but we really do need to know who we're dealing with here," the blonde said, flipping the cloaked figure's hood back. "Holy shit," she said, her jaw dropping.

Weiss sat there seething, fighting the urge to pummel the blonde woman. "Are you happy now?" she snapped.

"Oh, doesn't that take the prize. Weiss fucking Schnee, the High Prelate's prissy little princess bitch daughter, has the gift." The blonde was chortling now. "Your daddy would be shitting bricks if he knew."

"If you're threatening me-"

"Listen, _princess."_ The blonde's hand slapped down on the desk. "This morning your father watched my dad hang. All my dad did wrong was help people leave Atlas, people Atlas doesn't want here anyway. And now that it's your neck, you expect us to help you. No sale."

"I've got money-!"

"She said it." The black-haired woman stood, her hand resting by the pistol. 'We don't need your money, and we can't trust you not to turn us in to the inquisition."

"You have to help me!" Weiss slammed her fists down on the desk.

"No, actually we don't." The black-haired woman's voice was sad as she picked up the pistol. "In fact, you're too dangerous for us to even consider helping you."

"But-"

"Leave. Before I shoot you and take my chances."

* * *

Weiss was still seething hours later as she stalked through the stark corridors of the High Prelate's palace. The staff saw the dark look on her face and gave her as wide a berth as they could without making it obvious. Weiss' temper was nowhere near as bad as her father's, but her tongue could still flay flesh from bone when roused.

"You're home early, sister." Her brother Whitley's voice dripped with sarcasm as he looked down at her from the floor above. "Did your latest conquest defeat you instead?"

"Hardly, Whitley." Weiss gave her brother a smile colder than the northernmost reaches of Atlas. "Merely the opening skirmish, as it were. This one is rather skittish, and will require more… finesse than usual, I think. But once I have gotten through to them, the results will be quite worth it."

"So you say. Father was looking for you earlier, by the way, so it might be in your best interest to find him. I think he's in his office at the moment."

Weiss's father was sitting behind his desk when she entered his office, reading a report on his computer. "You wanted to see me, Father?"

He nodded but didn't answer right away, leaving her to stand there trying not to fidget while he finished reading the report. "Yes, Weiss. I received a complaint from the Inquisition while you were gone. An inquisitor tried to tail you on their own initiative this afternoon and ended up losing you after ten minutes. I'm not sure if I should praise you for losing them or condemn the inquisitor for losing you." Her father folded his hands on the desk in front of him, staring at her.

"Both?" Weiss suggested archly, examining her manicure as if she didn't have a care in the world. If he'd been truly angry, she would have known it by now. The genial tone meant she could get away with teasing him a little. Just a little.

"Perhaps," her father murmured, standing up and straightening his tie. "In any case, it's time for dinner. I'm glad you'll be here; your mother will be joining us as well."

 _As a drugged-out zombie, or as an actual, functional human being?_ Weiss thought to herself as her father left the office. Her mother's frequent very discrete stints in rehab were a source of constant pain for her. Weiss' eyes landed on her father's desk, the computer still open and logged into the inquisition's database. Maybe…

In a flash, she was behind her father's desk and typing away. If she couldn't convince Qrow's friends to help her nicely, maybe what she needed was a little leverage…

* * *

"You're a hard woman to find, Yang Xiao Long. It's taken me almost a week."

Yang looked up from her breakfast to find Weiss fucking Schnee staring down at her, a white box tucked under her arm. "Not only are you dangerous, you're a nosy pain in the ass, too. We told you, we're not helping you. Now piss off."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your friend might not want to talk to me, but I think you do because I know magic words and I have something you want." Weiss sat down opposite Yang in the diner booth, picking up a menu and pretending to peruse it.

"Alright, I'll listen, if only for the laugh. What magic words do you know? And what could you have that I might possibly want."

"The magic words are, 'Taiyang Xiao long," Weiss said, flagging down the waitress and ordering an omelet with coffee.

Yang's fist clenched on her fork, bending it. "That's my dad's name. Say it again and I'll rip your pretty little throat out."

The white-haired girl smirked and pushed the white box toward the center of the table. "Today's church trivia question: What happens to the bodies of people condemned to die by the church? The answer is, they're cremated, and their ashes stored with the 'evidence'' from their trial, if any, by the Inquisition." She put her hands on the sides of the box. "In little white boxes like this one, coincidentally enough."

Yang growled, jerking the box out of Weiss's hands and throwing the lid open. All she found inside was crumpled paper.

Weiss continued. "Of course, I didn't bring his ashes with me. They're somewhere safe, and I'll gladly hand them over to you, once you do what I want."

"And that is?" Yang asked with a snarl, knowing full well what Weiss wanted.

"You put me in contact with someone capable of teaching me to control my gift. Otherwise, your father's ashes will fertilize my mother's rose garden.

"Do we have a bargain, Yang Xiao Long?


End file.
